


Tempering Extremities

by Pargoletta



Series: Caro-verse [6]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Discussion of Offstage Child Abuse, Dog(s), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pargoletta/pseuds/Pargoletta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sudden addition of two hurt boys to the royal household of Verona is giving Escalus headaches. But the arrival of an old friend may help to solve some of his problems, even as it creates others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. General Of Your Woes

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Welcome to this story! It’s set about two months following the events of _A Time For Us_ , in which Mercutio and Valentine escaped their father’s house and came to live with their uncle, Prince Escalus. Unfortunately, even in a place of physical safety, problems don’t just vanish overnight.

**1\. General Of Your Woes**

* * *

The summer had been one of the most peaceful that Verona had seen in years. For reasons that Prince Escalus did not know, and had no desire to tempt fate by attempting to discover, the Montague and Capulet families had chosen to let their ancient quarrel lie. Some of the Prince’s advisors attributed it to the heat that made men lazy and disinclined to put much effort into fighting. Others pointed instead to a current dearth on both sides of men young enough to allow family enmity to boil their blood and also old enough to cause serious damage to each other and to the town.

Whatever the cause of this lull, Escalus was grateful for it, for it meant that he could devote more of his attention to the troubles stirring in his own house and those of his allies. He had been glad of the chance to exile Signior Giacomo Rinuccini to Mantua, for though the man was the widower of Escalus’s beloved little sister and the father of two of Escalus’s three nephews, Escalus had never liked him and had long suspected that a terrible capacity for evil lurked beneath the smooth, gregarious surface. The circumstances under which Escalus’s suspicions had been proved correct had been horrifying enough to drain most of the pleasure from the moment, and the repercussions of removing so prominent a businessman from the community on such short notice had merely added to Escalus’s cares. And his adoption of Mercutio and Valentine, his sister’s sons, had proved unexpectedly difficult as well.

It was not that Escalus had no experience with taking in young kinsmen suddenly left along in the world; after the plague had swept through Verona four years previously, he had adopted his brother’s son Paris as his heir. Paris had not been much older than Mercutio was now, but even the experience of one boy suddenly placed in his care had not prepared Escalus for the next two.

Valentine was the lesser of Escalus’s cares. The child was altogether too diffident and retiring for a boy who had just seen the change of ten years, but he knew the social graces well, and his tutor reported that he was bright and eager to learn. Escalus did not doubt that age would strengthen him, and he had high hopes of watching Valentine blossom into a young man as gracious and charming as the mother he had barely known. In the meantime, Valentine was quiet and eager to please. Paris was quite taken with him, and the two of them had become fast friends.

Mercutio, on the other hand, had been a nuisance since the moment of his arrival. A scant hour after he and his brother had woken the palace in the dead of night, he had collapsed, burning with a fever that had nearly killed him. He had required the services of a learned physician and had been ill for nearly a month. The disposition that had emerged as the fever receded was alternately mischievous and aggressive, flighty and ill-mannered. Mercutio quarreled with Paris, refused to concentrate on the lessons that his tutor tried to teach him, and displayed a mouth surprisingly foul for a youth of such noble breeding.

The bell of Saint Peter’s church began to toll. It was noon, and time for dinner and for the fraught atmosphere that had recently begun to hang about that meal. Escalus grimaced and put the letter he had been trying to compose aside, just as a knock came at the door to his study.

“Come,” he called.

The door opened, revealing a young page, a boy of roughly thirteen or fourteen, newly engaged from one of the small hamlets that dotted the hills just outside Verona’s walls. The boy looked properly awed at being in the presence of the Prince, then found his voice.

“A meal is on the table, my Lord, if you would care to dine,” he said.

Escalus rose, thanked the page gravely, and put on his most neutral expression as he walked to the dining hall.

* * *

The welcome aromas of fresh bread, grilled fish and spicy baked eggplants greeted Escalus’s nose, and he smiled as he approached the table. Paris, Mercutio, and Valentine had already been summoned, and several courtiers occupied the rest of the seats at the table. Everyone stood respectfully until Escalus had seated himself. They bowed their heads as Escalus said grace over the meal, and then sat back as servants shifted platters and trenchers and poured wine and small beer. When everyone had been served, Escalus took a bite of fish and a bite of eggplant and pronounced them good. The rest of the company began to eat, and conversation flowed freely around the table.

Paris spoke with Escalus concerning one of the hunting dogs that had recently given birth. He planned to inspect the pups some time after dinner, and wondered what should be done with any runts or weaklings. Valentine’s eyes shone at the mention of puppies, and he began to squirm mightily on his bench. Escalus smiled at him. “Well, Valentine?” he asked. “What are thy thoughts on the proper disposition of pups too small to make good hunting dogs?”

Valentine shrank just a little, but the thought of puppies seemed to give him new courage. “I know not, Uncle,” he said. “But I would like very much to accompany my noble cousin. Perhaps one of the puppies will be friendly.”

Escalus exchanged a raised eyebrow with Paris. The idea had merit. An interest in dogs was entirely fitting in a nobleman such as Valentine would grow to be. In the short term, an active, friendly pup might be just the thing to draw Valentine out of his habitual reserve. Escalus nodded to Valentine. “If thou dost mind thy tutor and complete thy lessons without complaint, then thou mayst accompany thy cousin on his inspection.”

Valentine’s face lit up with joy, and he barely found the breath to squeak out his thanks. Paris laughed a little.

“Fear not, Valentine,” he said. “I shall take thee to see the pups today. But have a care with thy dinner! I would not have thee choke before laying eyes on the creatures.”

“Ay, Paris.” Valentine chewed a bite of eggplant slowly for show, then turned to discuss his latest fortune with Mercutio.

Escalus leaned over to speak low in Paris’s ear. “See that he chooses one pup for his own,” he said. “The dog will do him good.”

Paris nodded and turned to smile at Valentine, but the smile faded on his lips as he looked at Mercutio. “Is thy dinner not to thy taste?” he asked, casting a glance at Mercutio’s mostly untouched trencher.

Mercutio’s eyes flickered back and forth between Paris and Escalus, and Escalus wondered what calculation was going through the boy’s mind. “I have no quarrel with the food,” Mercutio offered.

“Thou art not falling ill again?”

“My cousin, I am in the very pink of health.”

“Then perhaps thou wilt show respect for the cooks who prepared thy dinner by eating it,” Escalus said, a shade more sharply than he had intended.

Mercutio glared, but began to eat his eggplant, slowly and without much enthusiasm. Valentine leaned over and whispered in Mercutio’s ear, and Escalus turned back to his own trencher. When he glanced up again, he noticed that Mercutio’s fish had disappeared entirely. He suspected that most of it had been secreted away to be fed to stray cats on the street later, but Mercutio was cunning, and there was no proof. The most that Escalus could hope was that at least a few bites of the fish were actually inside Mercutio.

Eventually, Mercutio ate enough eggplant to assure Escalus that he would not starve to death that day, and Escalus declared the meal at an end. The servants cleared the trenchers and the remains of the meal from the table, and Escalus said another grace, then dismissed the company. Valentine scampered away, presumably to seek out his tutor and demand lessons immediately, so that he could visit the pups that much sooner. Mercutio followed him, and Paris set off in the direction of the library.

The day had turned out to be bright and fair, with just enough of a breeze for comfort. Escalus decided to take a walk in the garden before returning to his letter.

* * *

The flowers in the garden were bright and pleasing to the eye. The herbs were fragrant, and bumblebees hummed contentedly among the plants. Escalus strolled along the edge of the reflecting pond and allowed the sun to warm him, hoping that the warmth might ease the stiffness of his shoulders. For a few precious moments, his peace seemed absolute.

However, all things in life were temporary, and Escalus’s peace was soon shattered by the shouts of two boys fighting inside the palace. One voice was already distressingly familiar, and Escalus could not help but grumble a little as he hurried back indoors to the solar.

Paris had arrived just before Escalus had, and he had managed to pull a furious Mercutio off of the page who had summoned Escalus to dinner. Mercutio struggled in Paris’s grip, still trying to assault his foe. The page took advantage of the Prince’s presence to scuttle a little further away and hide behind a bench.

“What is the meaning of this?” Escalus thundered, startling Mercutio into stillness. “Mercutio, wilt thou fight a servant in this hall?”

Mercutio’s eyes narrowed, and he thrust his chin out defiantly. “You were not here, my Lord. You know not what he did say. He did call --“

“Enough!” Escalus moved to block Mercutio’s view of his prey. “By th’rood, I care not what names he has tossed at thee. He is but a servant, below thee in station, though not in manners. Thou hast no call to use one so faithful and diligent in such a way as this. I will not have my servants mistreated in my house, especially not by the likes of thee. Paris, escort this young villain to his tutor, and see that he remains at his books until he has learned to appreciate the privilege of his birth.”

Paris nodded, and tried to put an arm around Mercutio’s shoulders. Mercutio shrugged him off and stalked away, his head held high. When he and Paris had left the solar, Escalus turned to the page, and hauled him to his feet.

“What is thy name?” he asked.

The page bowed deeply. “Angelo, an it please my Lord.”

“Angelo. Tell me, who began this brawl?”

Angelo considered the question an instant too long. “Master Mercutio, my Lord. He did leap upon me as a cat doth leap upon a mouse, though his fists were harder than any cat’s paws.”

This last was probably true; Mercutio was skinny enough that he seemed to be all hard, unyielding bone. Nevertheless, Escalus had to admit that he had never seen his nephew leap at someone all of a sudden. “What took place immediately before this catlike leap?” he asked.

Angelo’s eyes shifted, and a familiar sinking feeling came over Escalus. This would not be an easy matter to sort out. “We . . . had words, my Lord.”

“I see. Dost thou recall precisely which words were had?”

Angelo gave a vigorous nod. “I spoke nothing but the truth, my Lord, the truth that all the boys in the palace do know.”

Escalus dreaded the answer to his next question, but pressed on anyway. “What truth is that, Angelo?”

“Why, that Master Mercutio is a cursed sodomite, saving your pardon, my Lord. All the boys do know that he has committed most foul and unnatural acts with other men and boys, and some say that he has even played the wanton with his own father!” Antonio’s eyes glittered as he recounted the tale, heedless of his own growing peril. “Sandro has told me that he likes not the look in Master Mercutio’s eyes when young Master Valentine is present, and I have sworn to guard that boy’s tender virtue at all costs, even if Master Mercutio do come to bugger us all in our sleep, as Taddeo has warned us that he would.” Satisfied with his tale of dire peril, Angelo fell silent.

Escalus expended some effort, but maintained a neutral expression, even as he ground his teeth together in rage. He would have to speak harshly to all of the servants, it seemed, though Angelo had been simple enough to name the chief gossipmongers among the pages. “I recall that thy family does not dwell within Verona’s walls,” he said slowly. “Wouldst thou help to jog my memory?”

“My parents still dwell in Santa Lucia,” Angelo offered, puzzled at the new turn in the conversation. “That is a small hamlet to the southwest of --“

“I know where Santa Lucia is,” Escalus snapped. “And I will send thee back there immediately.”

Angelo went pale, and his mouth hung open, but no words came out.

“Thou wilt go at once to the comptroller of this household and receive the wages that thou hast earned for this quarter, and then thou shalt return at once to thy family in Santa Lucia and shalt set no foot in Verona for ten years to come.”

“But, my Lord --“

“I trust that thou wilt use the time of thy punishment to think well on the sin of spreading such cruel rumors as those that thou hast told me today. Now, be off.”

Angelo opened his mouth once more, then shut it again. He looked close to tears, but Escalus allowed no pity to creep into his expression. Angelo bowed, and shuffled away.

Escalus considered the letter he had left unfinished on his desk. It would simply have to wait a little longer. He called for Sandro and Taddeo to be brought before him, and when they arrived, he questioned them briefly to ascertain that they were indeed the other gossips among the pages, and then dismissed them from his service as summarily as he had done with Angelo. Upon returning to his study, he called for all the household’s pages to assemble, and spoke with them for two hours to undo the damage that three loose tongues had wrought upon his nephew’s reputation.

By the time he had sent the chastened and silent pages back to their work, he had forgotten entirely the important matter he had begun to communicate before dinner.

* * *

Escalus’s head had begun to ache from having to settle so many quarrels in his own home, and he was distinctly less than pleased when his secretary appeared at the study bearing two documents.

“It bears the seal of a gentleman who breeds fine steeds on his country estate,” the secretary said, “though his name slips my mind at the moment. He has sent these to you.”

Escalus accepted them wearily, but paused when he saw the seal. It was one he had not seen in many years, and his heart leapt at the unexpected joy of seeing it now. One document was notice of an appointment with a lawyer of Verona, during which the gentleman would settle some issues having to do with property in the city. The other was a personal letter.

 _To my Lord Escalus, Prince of Verona,_

 _I find that pressing business brings me to the city for several days. I should like very much to renew our old acquaintance, should you give me leave to do so. I shall arrive in Verona in two days’ time, and I would be honored to send my servants to thine to announce my coming, if such is acceptable to you._

 _Your loyal and devoted subject, and one-time friend,_

 _Giambattista_


	2. Crush A Cup Of Wine

**2\. Crush A Cup Of Wine**

* * *

The letter from his old friend seemed to lift much of the burden from Escalus’s shoulders, and he was able to complete the correspondence that he had begun earlier in the morning. He wished to create for himself a portion of time free of any outside demands, so that he might think and hit upon the best way to bring Giambattista to the palace without arousing too many suspicions. A small corner of his mind acknowledged that such scheming was ridiculous; even a Prince was permitted to maintain a few personal friendships, so long as he did not let those friendships interfere with his ruling of the city. In that sense, he could summon Giambattista openly, as a dear friend of his youth, and none would think less of him for it.

But the greater part of his mind knew that there was more to it than that. Though Escalus’s most trusted servants knew the bent of his affections and maintained a discreet silence regarding his dalliances with other men, not all were privy to such intimate information. And even those trusted ones did not necessarily know of the friendship that had existed between their Prince and this one particular worthy in the days when Escalus’s father had ruled Verona. Though he had only ever spent one night with Giambattista, Escalus had treasured him for his merry ways, and had seen in him a reflection of something that he would have loved to be, had the responsibilities of Verona not rested upon his shoulders.

Though he had not associated with Giambattista since his father’s death, and had not laid eyes on him for many years, Escalus discovered that he still retained a detailed memory of his old friend. That night, as he lay nestled among his fine sheets and pillows, he imagined that Giambattista lay again at his side. The air was warm and humid, as it had been during their one sweaty encounter, and Escalus imagined that he could feel again the play of muscles beneath flushed skin, the maddening slide of another strong, slick body writhing beneath his own. The memories were so strong that he was not aware of any conscious decision to take himself in hand, but he did not resist the impulse and was soon busily engaged adding more fuel to his already burning memories.

Later, spent and satisfied, he hit upon the solution to his dilemma. Giambattista would be in the city for legal business of the sort that tended to endure over the course of several days. There would be plenty of time to announce the return to Verona of a friend of the Prince’s youth, and perhaps even to arrange a small celebratory gathering to welcome him beneath the very noses of his advisors and aldermen. With such a gathering in place, it would be the work of only a few moments alone to arrange a further, more intimate meeting at a later date. Escalus fell asleep happily composing a letter of invitation to Giambattista in his mind.

* * *

As it turned out, others in the palace were glad of the chance to hold a feast. The events of the summer had affected everyone, and a feast of welcome would be the perfect charm to dispel the sour taste of banishment that still lingered in the air. As soon as Escalus spread the word and issued orders, the mood of the palace seemed to brighten. Mercutio managed to behave acceptably, and did not fight Paris, even when Paris teased him a little for outgrowing all of his clothes seemingly overnight. Valentine had fallen in love with a small brindle pup that he had named Bembo. Bembo was still too small to be separated from his mother, but Valentine loved to visit him in the kennels, and was ecstatic at the promise of a ribbon from the feast to make a collar for his new pet.

Perhaps the best thing about Bembo was that Valentine had been eager to show him off to Mercutio. As a result, both boys had spent much of the day hanging around the kennels, and did not cause trouble for the servants. Escalus was still not certain if his scolding of the pages the day before had sunk in, but at least there was peace today. He took advantage of that peace to put his plans into action.

A messenger took only an hour to discover where Giambattista would be lodging when he arrived in Verona, and Escalus used that time to compose a brief letter of invitation to a small gathering to be held at the palace on the day after Giambattista’s arrival. Several other worthies also received invitations, though Escalus was careful to include neither Capulets nor Montagues. This gathering was for one purpose only, and he would not risk fanning that feud into new life and distracting him from his goal. After some consideration, he struck Paris from the list of guests as well. He did not care much whether Paris saw him courting, but he intended to have only adults as his guests and did not want to provoke a fit of jealousy in Mercutio at being excluded from a feast where his older cousin was present.

After Escalus had arranged things to his satisfaction, his heart rested lighter than it had been for many weeks. The reward for his care and toil was now within his sight.

* * *

The day of the feast found Escalus as giddy as a child, though he did his best to conceal it from the household. He gave Paris leave to go hawking with companions, and dismissed the tutor for the day, so that Mercutio and Valentine could roam the city with their friends. He hoped that this would not only keep them out of the way of the servants preparing for the guests, but also wear them out so that they would not object to being sent to bed with the sun. For himself, he spent more time than usual sorting through his wardrobe in search of the perfect outfit for the occasion, rich and fine, yet not overly gaudy. Tonight, he wished to appear handsome but not regal, for Giambattista had known him before he was Prince, and did not need to be dazzled with a display of wealth and power.

It seemed as though the day dragged on for a hundred years. But at last, the cooler breezes of evening began to blow. The sun dipped below the horizon, and Escalus’s guests began to arrive. He welcomed them all warmly and bade them dance and be merry, though he feared that he would burst from anticipation.

In the whirl of music and the flood of greetings, Escalus almost missed the one arrival he had been so desperate to see. But all of a sudden, he saw a servant dressed in a livery that he did not recognize, and his heart fluttered.

The servant bowed. “My master, Lord Giambattista Salutati, and Lady Salutati” he said, and stepped aside so that they could enter.

The years had wrought an unexpected change in Escalus’s old friend. When last they had associated, Giambattista had been a boy, but it was a man who stood before him now. Age had worn a few lines into his brow and around his eyes and had sharpened some of the contours of his face. His abundant dark curls were now lightly sprinkled with silver, and he moved with a purposeful grace entirely unlike the loose carelessness of his youth. But his eyes still sparkled with delight and merriment, and his smile was as warm and ready as Escalus had always known it.

Giambattista did not stand on ceremony, but strode forward and clasped the Prince’s hands. “I had thought never to see thee again!” he cried, then, remembering his manners, stepped back and added, “my Lord.”

“Enough of that,” Escalus said, warmth pulsing through his body. “Thou art an old and well-beloved friend, and thy welcome in this house is as one friend to another.”

“Then greet me as a friend, and I shall be well satisfied.” Giambattista held out his arms, and Escalus took up the embrace gladly, almost shivering at the thrill of reunion.

Giambattista held the embrace for an instant or two longer than was strictly necessary, and pulled away with a caress so faint that Escalus was not certain that he had not imagined it. An uncertain little smile quirked at his lips. “Allow me to present my wife, the lady Isotta.”

Of course. Giambattista had married. Most men did, even men of Escalus’s natural inclination. Escalus had used a variety of excuses to avoid the state, but he was the exception to the rule. He vaguely remembered having heard news of the marriage of Signior Salutati four or five years previous, but as he had not attended the ceremony and had not wished to dwell upon its implications, he had pushed it to the back of his mind.

Isotta seemed pleasant enough. She was young and healthy, with a face that was handsome rather than beautiful. Her wide, clear eyes gave no hint of question regarding her husband’s conduct, and she gave a gracious smile as she dipped a low curtsey. “My Lord,” she said, and her voice was as soft and gentle as any well-bred lady’s. There was nothing whatsoever to dislike about her, which made Escalus’s jealousy sting even more sharply.

He pushed the jealousy away and bowed to the lady. “Be welcome, Lady. You do grace this house with your fair presence.”

Giambattista shot Escalus a look of pure gratitude over his wife’s head, then offered her his arm. Escalus escorted the two of them into his hall personally, determined to enjoy whatever affection his old friend could spare him.

* * *

Later, when the wine was flowing freely and the dancing was in full swing, Escalus slipped away from the feast to the portico. He leaned against a column and breathed the fresh air, glad of a short rest from the noise inside. He had not been there especially long, perhaps ten minutes, when he heard footsteps. Giambattista approached him, carrying two goblets of wine.

“I thought thou wouldst enjoy some refreshment,” he said, offering one of the goblets to Escalus.

Escalus took it with a little smile. “I would. My thanks.”

“Nay. I also came to offer my thanks to thee.” Giambattista pursed his lips for a moment, as if choosing his next words carefully. “Thy welcome to my lady wife was cordial and sincere, and I thank thee for it.”

Escalus shrugged. “I would not stint in graciousness to any lady that I would receive as a guest in my home.”

“Isotta is not merely any lady,” Giambattista replied. “Thou knowest that as well as I. She is my wife, and, I venture, a wife that thou didst not expect to see.”

“I had heard of thy nuptials,” Escalus said, with only the faintest note of wounded protest in his voice. “But I confess . . . in the joy of receiving thy letter . . . I had forgotten.”

Giambattista nodded, and gave a little laugh. “Ay. Even so had I suspected. Thou couldst not mask the surprise on thy countenance upon hearing Isotta presented as my wife. And so I offer thee my thanks for thy welcome of her.” He raised his glass and drank to his host.

Escalus sipped at his own wine and tried to resist the question that had been churning about in his stomach ever since he had escorted Giambattista and Isotta into the hall. He knew that it would sound petulant, and he had no desire to offend any guest, much less one whose presence he had so eagerly anticipated and who still warmed his heart after so many years apart. But the silence between them grew heavier, and at last, the question could no longer be suppressed. “Dost thou love her?”

Giambattista looked startled. “I beg pardon?”

“I know thou hast ears to hear. Dost thou love her?”

Giambattista turned away and let the breeze ruffle his curls for a moment while he considered his answer. “Ay. I do love Isotta, after a fashion.”

“I believe thee,” Escalus murmured. It made sense; Giambattista had always been eager to squeeze the very marrow out of life, drinking and carousing with his friends as if he would never have a care in the world. He loved all things and all manner of people; why should he not have found a way to love his wife?

He was drawn from his thoughts by the soft touch of Giambattista’s hand on his shoulder. “Cast not thine eyes to the ground, Escalus,” he said. “I would not see sorrow sit heavier upon thy shoulders than it has already rested these past sixteen years.”

“Sixteen?”

“Ay. Sixteen years since the influenza took thy noble father and left thee with the weight of his governing mantle. This city has been a burden upon thee.”

“A burden to which I was ever bound by fate,” Escalus said, unable to keep a tinge of irritation out of his voice. “I had known since I knew my own name that the burden of Verona awaited me, and I accepted it without question or complaint. Why dost thou seek to divert our conversation with talk of such things?”

Giambattista blew out a long breath. “Because I see the weary weight in thy eyes. Thou art laden with responsibility, and I wager thou art lonesome as well, despite the fine company thou hast assembled tonight. I know that thou art distressed to look upon my lady Isotta, or even to think of her -- see how thou dost shrink at the very mention of her name! That is another weight that rests upon thy back, and I cannot help but grieve that I have put it there to plague thee.”

At that, Escalus managed to lift his head and look Giambattista in the eye. He made out his friend’s expression of concern, but there was not light enough for him to discern any deeper subtleties. He wanted desperately to say something, anything to escape from this uncomfortable impasse, but could find no words to say.

Giambattista gently took the wine goblet from Escalus’s unresisting fingers, and set it down on the low rail along with his own. He turned back to face Escalus and placed both hands on the Prince’s shoulders.

“I did not want to burden thee,” he said, in a low voice meant only for the two of them, “because thou art a friend, ever and anon, who doth lie close to my heart. Escalus, thou art dear to me in ways that thou dost not know; perhaps thou didst never know.”

Escalus did not dare to breathe. Part of him waited anxiously for Giambattista’s next words, and another part of him dreaded to hear them.

“I told thee that I love Isotta, after my own fashion. No less do I love thee, for all that we did spend but one night as lovers. I grieved when thy father died, less for the passing of my Prince than for the passing of the days that I spent in raucous company with his son.”

“It was never my intention to cast thee from my sight.”

“Nay, thou didst put thy friends away because thou didst have little choice in the matter.” Giambattista smiled a little. “I knew this then, and I forgave thee for it. But I did not cease to love thee, and neither do I wish to hurt thee now.”

A lance of sharp pain stabbed through Escalus’s chest, and he let loose a ragged breath that was almost a sob. “Thou canst not know how thy words affect me,” he said.

Giambattista laughed, and a little of his old merriment shone through. “Neither, I wager, canst thou,” he replied. “But come, we must talk more of these things, and this feast is not the time nor the place. I shall see my lawyer in the morning. Call upon me in the afternoon, or if thou cannot, then summon me to attend thee in the evening. We will speak of matters concerning me and thee and Isotta then.”

Escalus took a breath to steady himself, then nodded. “Ay. I shall send for thee in the evening, when my day’s tasks are complete.”

“Then let us go and dance and drink and be sociable,” Giambattista said. He paused for a moment, then leaned in and kissed Escalus’s lips, a warm and solid kiss that spoke of love and affection but did not inflame any passions that could not be satisfied that night.

At last, Escalus allowed himself to do what he had wanted to do all evening. He twined his hand through Giambattista’s hair, and pressed small kisses of his own along the hairline and on the lobes of his friend’s ears. “I shall see thee tomorrow,” he said.

Flushed, and somewhat short of breath, the two gentlemen took a moment to compose themselves, then returned to the music and laughter of the hall.


	3. Some Shall Be Pardon'd

**3\. Some Shall Be Pardon’d**

* * *

Escalus’s morning began, as too many of them had begun recently, with the sounds of an argument. He hauled himself out of his bed, pulled on a robe over his nightgown, and strode out into the corridor to investigate. Gaspardo, the valet he had assigned to look after Mercutio and Valentine, was standing at Mercutio’s door with an annoyed expression on his face. The door was cracked open just enough to reveal one suspicious blue eye. Paris’s valet Lorenzo arrived just as Escalus did, clearly drawn by the commotion.

“What is the trouble today?” Escalus asked.

Gaspardo made a crisp bow. “My Lord, I attempted to enter young master Mercutio’s chamber, to wake him and prepare him for the duties of the day. But I was prevented in my efforts by the chair that the young master had placed before the door ere he retired for the night.”

“Gaspardo has no cause for such fury.” Mercutio’s voice came fast and urgent through the crack in the door, as if he feared that his time for speech was limited, and he must mount a defense at once. “I am no slugabed, and I did rise when he called me. He had no cause to pound on my door and shout like a wild beast.”

“Thou art not to move the furniture in that chamber!” Gaspardo retorted. “That is nothing more than a means to create more work for the servants who must tidy thy messes.”

“What ho! Enough!” Escalus cried. “Be quiet, both of you. Mercutio, wilt thou come out and show thyself? I do not care to converse with thy door.”

There was the creak of furniture being shifted, and then the door opened just enough that Mercutio could slither out into the corridor, still in his nightgown. He stood with his back to the door, eyeing the adults gathered around him. “I am here, Uncle.”

“So thou art. Now hear the judgment of your Prince. I will not have this scene repeated, especially in the morning after an entertainment has been hosted here. Mercutio, an thou wouldst do Gaspardo the courtesy of answering his call and removing the chair from thy door, he would have no ground to shout for thee. Gaspardo, it betokens an ill-mannered soul to curse and rage at a youth of fourteen years as if thou wert a fishwife.”

Gaspardo bowed stiffly to Escalus, then turned to Mercutio. “I shall have water sent to thee,” he said. “Thou art of an age to wash and dress thyself for the day. My Lord,” he added, bowing once more to Escalus, then walking away with his back as straight as an iron rod.

Lorenzo moved to take his place, and Escalus noted that Mercutio seemed to relax just a little bit. “I wish thou wouldst not place thy chair before thy door, Mercutio,” Lorenzo said. “I have heard thy brother cry out in the night. Wouldst thou bar the door to him if he had need of thee?”

Slowly, Mercutio shook his head, and slipped back inside his chamber. After a moment, Escalus and Lorenzo heard the scrape of the chair being dragged away to its original position. Lorenzo nodded to Escalus. “I shall assist him this morning, since Gaspardo is not inclined to do so.”

“Good man.” Satisfied that the situation had been resolved, Escalus returned to his own chambers to prepare himself for his own day’s work.

* * *

Morning Mass in the palace’s chapel calmed Escalus’s mood. Afterwards, he went to his study to retrieve some notes he had made for today’s judgments at Free-town. Giambattista’s letter still lay on his desk, and he remembered their aborted conversation of the night before. Giambattista had been correct; more talk was sorely needed. Escalus wrote out a brief invitation asking Giambattista to come to him in the evening, and sent it by page to his lodging in the city.

Most of the cases that he heard in the court that day were supremely uninteresting, consisting primarily of neighbors arguing over this boundary or that. Escalus rendered justice as best he could, but suspected that most of the parties involved had gotten satisfaction merely from the opportunity to state their cases in front of him. Two cases did interest him. One involved three families and a jenny donkey that had recently given birth while on loan from one family to another, having been penned too close to a jack donkey belonging to the third family. Escalus awarded the colt to the borrowing family, on the grounds that each family would now own one donkey.

The second interesting case involved a man in the midst of arranging marriages and inheritances for his children. The eldest son, who would normally have received the greatest share of the inheritance, refused to marry the girl his father had selected for him, and the father had threatened to withhold the son’s inheritance for that reason. Escalus spoke with both father and son in turn, and came to his own conclusions about the son’s real reasons for refusing the marriage.

This case promised to be thornier than the other, and Escalus found himself unwilling to render a judgment quickly or lightly. It struck him that his conversation with Giambattista that evening would give him new matter for thought in this instance. The father looked to be in reasonably good health, and unlikely to drop dead in the week before the next open court. The girl was not with child, and her family was not entertaining any other imminent proposals of marriage. The case would keep. Escalus assured the father that he would consider all the arguments that had been put forth, but announced that he would defer his judgment for a week so that he might have time to consider fully all that he had heard. Upon leaving court, the family did not exactly appear satisfied, but they did at least seem placated to know that a decision would come.

* * *

Usually, Escalus returned from Free-town weary from his day of judgment and ready for a quiet meal and time alone for study and devotions. But today, the anticipation of Giambattista’s visit made his blood pulse and put a little more life in his stride. A mixture of yips and giggles from the kennels told him that Valentine was paying a visit to Bembo, and a servant informed him that Paris had gone hawking again, and that Mercutio was still out with his friends.

Escalus took a small supper and summoned Valentine to join him. The boy seemed shy of him at first, but Escalus asked after Bembo’s health, and Valentine smiled. He told Escalus all about the pup’s soft coat and eager tongue, his squabbles with his littermates, and his first explorations on wobbly legs. “The kennel master says that he is still far too young to leave his mother,” Valentine said, “but he has said that when Bembo is two months of age, then I might help to train him.”

“That is an excellent plan. Once thou hast learned how a pup is trained, thou canst attend when thou hast charge of a kennel master of thy own.”

A thoughtful expression came over Valentine’s face. “Uncle,” he ventured, “if I help to train Bembo, might he live in my chamber when he is old enough? I will not have him in the bed,” he added quickly, “but perhaps he might sleep in a basket near the door.”

Escalus was not certain that a dog bred for the hunt would make an ideal house pet, but he knew his kennel master, and knew that the man trained dogs exceptionally well. “If thou canst train Bembo to be a gentleman, then he may sleep with thee,” he said.

Valentine nodded. “Then I shall train him to be the best gentleman of all Verona.”

* * *

Giambattista appeared in Escalus’s study just as the clock struck seven in the evening. Escalus had prepared two goblets of wine, but Giambattista crossed the room in four large strides and embraced him before he could make any offer of refreshment. Escalus leaned into the embrace, and marveled that his body seemed to fit so perfectly with that of his old friend. “I feared thou wouldst not come,” he said softly.

Giambattista smiled at him. “I received a summons from my Prince,” he pointed out. “And dost thou truly think that I could ever refuse an invitation from a friend as dear to me as thou?”

“I did wonder,” Escalus admitted. “We were only lovers once. And I did not attend thy wedding, as a true friend ought to have done.”

“Thou didst not come to my chambers twice, and thou didst not invite me to thine. And I am glad that thou didst not attend my nuptials, for I fear that it would have broken thy heart, or mine.” And with that, they had come to the heart of their conference that night.

Escalus moved to sit at his desk, feeling that it would be best to have something solid between him and Giambattista. He pushed one goblet of wine toward his guest, and took a long sip from the other. “Thou didst tell me last night that thou dost love thy wife, after a fashion.”

“I do.”

“Which fashion is that? Canst thou love men and maids equally, truly seeing no difference between the two?”

Giambattista laughed delightedly, as if the idea had caught his fancy. “Alas, no, though I fear that my life has been much the poorer for it. I know that such men exist, and I fear I shall envy them to the end of my days.”

The way that Giambattista said it did make that state of being seem unusually attractive, and Escalus cracked a smile. But it faded quickly when he considered the true nature of Giambattista’s situation. “Then thou wouldst tell me that thou art lawfully wedded to a woman, yet all the while thou dost crave the love of men?”

Giambattista tried to meet Escalus’s eyes, but his gaze slid away to focus on the point of the desk. He sipped his wine and was silent for a moment before he responded. “Even unto this day, thou knowest not what thou didst give me that night,” he murmured. “Before thou didst come to me, I knew naught but that I was restless and craved a thing I knew nothing of. Then thou didst appear in my chamber, in my bed, and I knew what it was that I craved. Thou didst give me myself, my friend, and I am forever in thy debt for that.”

“And yet thou didst still consent to wed thy lady.”

“Ay, that.” Giambattista’s smile lost some of its focus. “That was my father’s doing, I fear. The plague had recently lifted, and my father did not wish to risk seeing me without an heir. Not all young men are privileged to be able to say to this or that maid, nay, her station is not equal to the Prince of Verona.”

Escalus had to concede that point. “Thou didst marry out of duty to thy family. But thou dost love the lady?”

“Isotta is a gentle lady, and a kind and a virtuous. She is clever and is possessed of such a wit that I might never tire of her company.” Giambattista grinned at Escalus. “She is a dear friend and boon companion, who lacks only the smallest prick to make me desire her as a husband ought to desire his wife.”

Escalus could feel his eyebrows slowly crawling upwards. “Then thou dost not . . . ?”

“Ay, on occasion,” Giambattista said, waving the thought away with the hand that held his wine goblet. “Perhaps thou hast never tried? It can be done, if one’s will can lend strength to one’s prick. But for the most part, we live as chastely as brother and sister.”

Now Escalus was ashamed that he had doubted Giambattista’s words the night before. “Then thy union brings thee no pleasure. I sorrow for thee.”

Giambattista shrugged. “It is union in name only. My wit and my head are well pleased with my lady Isotta, but my loins do burn with frustration. There are days when I find that I do bear a load of jealousy toward my stud stallions, for even those poor dumb beasts find satisfaction more often than I.”

He sounded so distressed that Escalus’s resolve to conduct a rational discussion with a desk between them to forestall any possibility of an advance melted away. He rose from his seat, hurried around the desk, and took Giambattista’s face in his hands. In one reckless movement, he kissed his friend, hard and insistent, pushing with his tongue in the manner of the French. After a moment of surprised stillness, Giambattista’s lips opened to receive him, and Giambattista’s hands moved to clutch at his shoulders as if he feared that Escalus would be torn from him by force at any moment.

Moments later, when Giambattista broke the kiss for lack of breath, Escalus looked into his eyes, and saw the naked desire within. “Come to me,” he said, his voice almost a husky whisper into Giambattista’s parted lips. “Thy marriage is no marriage. Come to me and find thy relief. Long have I desired thee, but fear kept me from giving voice to my want. But I am the Prince, and I need fear no man now. Come to me.”

For a moment, Giambattista seemed to struggle to find words. Escalus traced his tongue delicately just inside Giambattista’s upper lip, and felt his friend shudder in response. “After so many years,” Giambattista breathed, “I had near lost all my hopes.”

“Come to me. The night is young.”

Giambattista placed a hand on Escalus’s chest and gave a slight push. “Nay, not tonight.”

“What, wilt thou not --“

“I cannot abandon Isotta. My lady wife awaits me in our lodging tonight. I cannot betray that trust.”

Escalus sighed. Not knowing what else to do, he picked up the hand that pressed against his chest and kissed it, then sucked gently on the index finger for a moment. “Does Isotta know?” he asked.

“About the true direction of my interests? I know not. We have never spoken of it . . . but she is clever, and I cannot believe that she does not at least suspect, or that she would be especially surprised to learn of it. Perhaps she would even forgive me.”

“Wilt thou tell her?”

“I know not. I would not know how to begin.”

“What is thy will in this matter between us? Wouldst thou come to me if thou wert a free man?”

Giambattista leaned up to kiss Escalus, then looked into his eyes. “I would come to thee tomorrow, an thou wilt have me. Prithee, give me the daylight hours tomorrow to speak to my wife, so that she will not sit up through the night awaiting my safe return. That is all I ask of thee.”

“Come to me tomorrow, then,” Escalus said. “Or, if thou cannot, send word, that I might also have no need to sit up for thee.”

Giambattista smiled, and his eyes sparkled as they had done in the days of his youth. “I will come to thee tomorrow,” he said, “though I go tonight to her.”

With a sweet parting kiss, he left the study, and Escalus fancied that there was a spring in his step that had not been there when first he had entered.


	4. To Do Their Amorous Rites

**4\. To Do Their Amorous Rites**

* * *

The following evening, Escalus did not wait for Giambattista’s arrival in his study, but in his bedchamber. He asked his old valet to escort Giambattista there discreetly, for the valet had served him since before his father’s death, and was one of the few in the palace to whom Escalus could trust himself fully. He fussed for a while, checking to ensure that the room held all that was needed; a jug of good wine and a knob of cheese, plenty of candles, and a full jar of a sweet-smelling unguent that had many uses, some unknown to the apothecary who prepared it. The children and youth of his household had long since been sent to their own beds. All was ready, and at last, there was nothing for Escalus to do but wait.

The wait was not particularly long, though it seemed to Escalus that a thousand years flew past. But finally, there came a soft knock at the door, and the valet ushered Lord Salutati into the room with noble words and a courteous bow. Giambattista thanked the man politely and waited for the door to close and for the sound of footsteps to retreat down the corridor before he hurried across the room. Escalus caught him up in a firm embrace and covered Giambattista’s mouth with his own. For a few moments, the world dwindled to naught save the warmth and motion of the kiss.

When their lips finally parted, Giambattista’s hands slid down to Escalus’s hips and pressed them firmly against each other as Giambattista flicked his tongue playfully around the contours of Escalus’s jaw. With each flick, Escalus’s loins gave an answering pulse. Before he lost the ability to think altogether, he pushed away and retreated to the small table where the jug of wine and the cheese stood waiting. “Welcome, dear friend,” he said, though the words seemed superfluous after such a greeting.

“A week of days has this day been, as I waited for the sun to set so that I might see thee again,” Giambattista said, perhaps a bit too dramatically for the situation.

Escalus smiled anyway, merely at the thought of Giambattista’s youthful humor returned to him. “Remove thy cloak,” he suggested. “Wilt thou not tarry here awhile?” He gestured towards a couch covered with a fine carpet. Giambattista wasted no time, but removed his hat, cloak, and shoes, and draped himself over the couch in full display. Escalus sucked in a breath, and turned to pour cups of wine for them.

“Hast thou spoken with thy lady wife?” he asked, almost timidly. “She will not keep vigil for thee this night?”

“We have spoken,” Giambattista assured him, “and we have come to an understanding.”

Normally, Escalus did not pry into the private affairs of his bedfellows, but he was intrigued, and felt that the situation with Giambattista was a different matter in any event. “What understanding is that?” he asked, as he offered one cup to his friend.

Giambattista smiled. “By chance, I do have a tale to tell thee,” he said. “Did I tell thee that my lady Isotta is clever? For she is more than that, by th’rood, she is so subtle as to put a legion of thy best spies to shame.”

“Perhaps I should engage her as such. That would keep thee in town, where I might see thee on occasion.”

Giambattista laughed out loud at that, then took a swig of wine before he continued his tale. “I came to Isotta, having first prepared a marvelous story of horses that thou didst wish to purchase and a campaign against the house of Medici that thou didst think to wage, but I could not tell a word of it, save only that thou hadst called me to the palace for a private consultation tonight. And dost thou know what Isotta said to that? ‘Marry, an thou wilt run to the side of thy lover, permit me to entertain mine in thy absence!’ Is she not clever, to have divined my thought without a word?”

Escalus choked on his wine with surprise, and had to cough and splutter before he was able to respond to this astonishing turn of events. “Thy wife has betrayed thee?” he gasped.

“Nay, she has taken a lover in the city. In such a case as ours, the two are hardly the same.”

When Giambattista put it that way, Escalus had to admit that he had a point. But surely there was more to be thought about in this strange arrangement. “And if this lover should get her with child?”

“Then I shall thank him for sparing me the task, and I shall raise the child as my own heir.” Giambattista’s face suddenly took on an impish expression. “Perhaps I shall ask my wife’s lover to stand godfather.”

“Then thou hast made thy peace with wearing the cuckold’s horns?”

“Ay, so I have. Should Isotta not have her pleasure? I owe that to my friend, do I not? And remember, too, that Isotta is as much cuckold as I -- at least, if thou wouldst leave off asking questions and fulfill the promise in thy kisses.”

With that prompting, Escalus found that he had not the heart to tarry any longer. He set down his goblet, went to the couch, and lowered himself into Giambattista’s welcoming arms. They did not speak for a while, letting their increasingly urgent kisses say all that needed to be heard. Escalus worked at the laces of Giambattista’s doublet until the garment hung loose about his shoulders, and Escalus could finally work a hand beneath Giambattista’s shirt. He stroked his hands firmly over Giambattista’s ribs and back, enjoying the play of muscle beneath his fingers, as Giambattista gasped and shuddered.

Giambattista wriggled away in order to shrug off his doublet and doff his shirt. Clad only in his hose, he knelt at Escalus’s feet and slowly pulled off first one boot, then the second. Starting with Escalus’s hose-clad right foot, he kissed and licked his way upwards, sometimes worrying the fabric of the hose with his teeth, and pausing to plant a maddening series of burning kisses on the hip. When he did that, the room seemed to grow notably warmer, and Escalus squirmed out of the brocade robe he had been wearing.

Giambattista’s kisses began to move again, but this time, his hands preceded his mouth, pushing Escalus’s shirt higher and higher so that the kisses now fell on bare skin. When the kisses reached his chest, Giambattista paused to lick the nipple he encountered. All the strength suddenly drained from Escalus’s body, and his bones seemed to turn to jelly. Giambattista chucked low in his throat, and continued his slow trail of kisses all the way to Escalus’s mouth, sliding his shirt completely off of him in the process. Satisfied with his work, Giambattista gave a delicate lick to the tip of Escalus’s nose, then laughed delightedly.

That laugh. Escalus had nearly forgotten that merry, wanton little laugh. Hearing it again gave his heart a jolt that sent a wave of arousal through his body. His erection strained against the confines of his hose, and he feared that he would spend himself too soon if he did not regain control of the situation. He startled Giambattista into stillness with a sudden lick to his earlobe, then spent a few more moments sucking it to ensure that there would be no resistance. After he was sure he had reduced Giambattista to squirms and moans, Escalus pulled them both to their feet and led the way to his great bed.

Once they were there, nestled among the pillows and blankets, Escalus found that he did not want to let Giambattista go. Though his prick still throbbed for attention, he could not bear to give up the comfort of their embrace or the warmth of skin upon skin. He buried his hands in Giambattista’s hair and nuzzled into the little hollow where his shoulder met his neck. In response, Giambattista’s hands roamed across Escalus’s back, and Escalus held Giambattista even tighter.

“Mmm,” Giambattista murmured. “Thou art as tense as a bowstring.”

“Should I be otherwise? I am well stirred up, and am on the point of mingling with the first lover I have had in years who has been more to me than a fine body and a stiff prick.”

Giambattista shook his head. “That cannot be the whole of the matter,” he said. “Thy stiff prick tells but half thy tale. What says thy stiff back?”

He rubbed at Escalus’s shoulders rather more purposefully, and Escalus groaned at the thought of such release. Giambattista smiled and kissed him. “I know the perfect spice for our night’s revels.” He glanced around, and took up the jar of unguent from its shelf near the bed. “Do I guess the purpose of this aright?”

The corners of Escalus’s mouth twitched. “It has many purposes.”

“Then it is well-suited to my present thoughts. Come, lie on thy belly.”

Escalus rolled over obligingly. Giambattista straddled his thighs, moistened his hands with the unguent, and began to rub it firmly into Escalus’s shoulders and down his spine. He pressed on Escalus’s lower back, which ground Escalus’s prick into the sheets, and Escalus cried out with pleasure. Giambattista bent to kiss the nape of his neck and continued his massage. His hands were large and warm, and he used them so well that Escalus was soon convinced that he lay not on his own bed, but on a cloud high above the firmament.

In this relaxed, dreamlike state, it was easy to believe that Escalus and Giambattista were the only two people left in the world. All of Escalus’s state responsibilities seemed to melt away beneath Giambattista’s hands. Freed of the constraints placed upon him by his station in life, Escalus began to speak. He told Giambattista of some of the summer’s events, of how he had banished Giacomo Rinuccini from Verona in a single night, of the horde of shocked and distressed gentlemen of business who had besieged the palace for days afterwards, and of the two secretive and troublesome boys who now dwelled there. Mindful of the setting and the ultimate ends of his dalliance with Giambattista, he made no mention of the reasons that Mercutio and Valentine had petitioned for asylum in the first place. He trusted that Giambattista, who had known Rinuccini’s reputation for years, would take it on faith that he had had good cause to banish the man.

Giambattista made no immediate comment to the tale. Instead, he lay down, stretched full length on top of Escalus, pressing him to the bed and thrusting his erection gently against Escalus’s buttocks. “Thou hast had too much of duty, my Lord” he murmured. “Tonight, then, allow me to bed thee and board thee. In the daylight hours, thou art master of this city, but under night’s veil, allow thyself to be mastered by me.”

It was hardly what Escalus had expected of the evening; the last time that he and Giambattista had sported thus, Giambattista had been an inexperienced boy who had willingly allowed himself to be guided and enjoyed. But it seemed that the passage of years had added new shine and luster. What Giambattista had suggested was not something that Escalus would do with most bedfellows, but he trusted his friend. And, he admitted to himself, Giambattista was right. The one thing he had lacked in his years of caring for the city was someone to care for him. He let out a slow breath and nodded his consent.

“Fear not,” Giambattista whispered in his ear. “I shall deal most kindly with thee. My marriage has taught me that, at the very least.”

He began by reaching beneath Escalus’s body to undo the strings that bound his hose together. Then he dropped kisses down Escalus’s spine, rolling the hose down as he went. Once Escalus lay naked and enflamed on the bed, Giambattista quickly stripped off his own hose and parted Escalus’s legs so that he could kneel between them. He reached once more beneath Escalus’s body to take him in hand, and by dint of a little stroking made Escalus rise to knees and elbows.

“That is good,” Giambattista said. “I am no longer the youth that thou didst tup, and a good angle would smooth my path well.”

“Wilt thou stow me now?”

“What, and leave us both spent ere the wee hours are upon us?” Giambattista laughed. “Nay, dear fellow, put thy trust in me; I shall show thee a right merry sport ere I fulfill my promises to thee.”

He kissed the very base of Escalus’s spine, just above the cleft, and then proceeded to demonstrate that there was no territory that his tongue would not explore. Escalus cried out in surprised pleasure, and Giambattista chuckled, which produced yet more sensation. “Is . . . is this not how witches do swear their allegiance to the devil?” Escalus choked out. Giambattista raised his head for a moment.

“In this instance, it is the horned devil swearing his allegiance to thee,” he said, and returned to his work.

Just as Escalus feared that he was about to go mad, Giambattista’s tongue vanished, to be replaced by his fingers smearing the cool unguent in the places where his tongue had been. After a moment, Giambattista traced damp fingertips lightly over Escalus’s buttocks, then grasped his hips. Escalus could feel the slicked tip of Giambattista’s prick nudging against him. He took a deep breath and allowed his muscles to relax. Giambattista pressed forward, and Escalus slowly engulfed him, relishing the pressure and fullness inside.

Once he was firmly settled, Giambattista let out a slow, shaky sigh and bent to kiss Escalus’s shoulders before he began to thrust. After a moment, he wrapped his hand around Escalus’s prick and stroked in time to his thrusts, just firmly enough to keep Escalus hard and wanting, but not quite enough to discharge him outright. Escalus groaned from deep in his belly, and surrendered himself to the warmth and pressure of Giambattista’s body on him and in him. He rocked with his friend’s rhythm and thrust himself into Giambattista’s hand, enjoying the keen ache of being held at the edge, not quite able to go over.

He had completely lost track of time, so he knew not how long they had tilted with each other. But presently, Giambattista’s hips began to move faster and more erratically. His breath hitched, and he spasmed against Escalus with an inarticulate cry. As he did so, his hand tightened around Escalus’s prick of its own accord. Escalus surged forward under Giambattista’s collapsing weight, and spent all of his treasure for a moment of ecstasy.

His limbs would no longer support his weight, to say nothing of Giambattista’s as well, and they slowly sank to the mattress, panting as hard as black dogs in the midsummer heat. Giambattista eased himself out of Escalus with a grunt, then nudged him onto his back. “Come,” he murmured, “I shall take thee down softly.” So saying, he wrapped his lips around Escalus’s prick and suckled gently, more to ease the wilting than to maintain arousal.

Slowly, Escalus’s mind cleared, and his heartbeat slowed to its more accustomed rate. He hooked his arms beneath Giambattista’s, and drew his friend up for a long, leisurely kiss. “I thank thee,” he said. “God a’mercy, I thank thee.”

Giambattista chuckled. “Dost thou always thank the thief who robs thee of thy gold?”

“Ay, when he is as charming and well-favored as thou art.”

Though he was loath to get up, Escalus was even less enchanted by the prospect of sleeping on damp sheets, so he tore himself from Giambattista’s arms only long enough to hobble to a chest and find a pair of towels. He used one to clean himself and Giambattista, and laid the other over the stain on the bed. Giambattista started to rise, but Escalus pulled him back into the warmth of the sheets. “Stay here,” he said. “Let us enjoy what we have just had. My men are discreet, and they will ensure that thou wilt leave here on the morrow with thy reputation intact.”

“This is certainly an improvement,” Giambattista remarked. “The last time that we did sport together, thou didst leave me to greet the morning alone.”

“The more fool was I. Rest here in my arms, and let me make that fault right.”

Giambattista smiled, and settled into Escalus’s grateful embrace. Escalus pulled the covers over them, and twined his fingers in his lover’s hair. Giambattista arched his head back, nearly purring his enjoyment.

A slow, wicked smile spread over Escalus’s face. “Thou didst think to tell thy wife that I planned to march against Florence?” he asked. “Prithee, couldst thou think of no better tale? Isotta would have seen through such foolishness in an instant.”

“Then be grateful that I did not have to tell her such a fantastic tale,” Giambattista said. He kissed Escalus one more time, and the two of them soon slept, entwined in each other’s arms.


	5. Mistempered Weapons

**5\. Mistempered Weapons**

* * *

Though it was usually his custom to arise just before dawn, Escalus found the bed with Giambattista in it so warm and comfortable that he nestled back down. There was really no need to arise so early, he decided, since he usually spent the time in contemplation, preparing for the day’s tasks. He could do that just as easily in bed, wreathed in Giambattista’s arms. He did not quite fall asleep, but dozed lightly, conscious only of the firm body of the man at his side. Giambattista shifted and snuffled a little as he began to wake up.

The first rays of the sun illuminated the chamber fully by the time that they were both decidedly awake. Giambattista stretched, writhing like a cat in the bed, and then kissed Escalus deeply. “Good morrow,” he said.

“Good morrow. It is a pleasure to say that here in this chamber, in this bed.”

Giambattista gave a wry smile, and traced a finger down Escalus’s brow, over his nose, and brought it to rest on his lips. Escalus sucked the finger for a few moments, simply for the joy of watching Giambattista shiver. But all too soon, Giambattista pulled his hand away. “As pleasant as thou art, there are other urges that are as strong,” he explained, and rose from the bed to locate the chamber pot. Escalus rolled over into the warm spot that Giambattista had left, and breathed in his scent, wishing that there were some way to put off the start of the day.

“I wish to borrow thy robe,” Giambattista said, and Escalus nodded. After a moment, he listened to the soft pad of bare feet as Giambattista went to set the chamber pot just outside the door to be collected by the gardener’s assistant. He heard Giambattista greeting someone outside the door, and uttered a mild oath at his friend’s foolishness. He would have to think of some plausible story to explain Giambattista’s presence to whichever puzzled servant had seen him there, in broad daylight, dressed in Escalus’s robe.

“Keep away, you mangy cullion! You shall not put your polluted hand to me or to my brother!” Mercutio’s angry shout shattered Escalus’s calm, and sent him hurrying from the bed. He paused just long enough to pull a long shirt over his nakedness, and rushed out into the corridor.

Giambattista stood just outside the door, a look of shock and confusion on his face. Across the corridor, Mercutio stood, blazing with rage, his hands balled into hard fists. Valentine hid behind his brother, his eyes fixed on Giambattista, watching him as intently as one might watch a dog suspected of being rabid.

“Mercutio!” Escalus cried. “Art thou a boy or a beast to hurl such abuse at a guest? Leave off this mistempered rage at once.” Mercutio opened his fists, but his face took on a sullen expression, and the hostile set of his body did not relax.

“I mean thee and thy brother no harm,” Giambattista said quietly. “I would not put my hand to anyone without leave.”

Escalus opened his mouth, intending to sentence Mercutio to a day without his dinner, but then remembered that Mercutio was just as apt to refuse food on his own. After what he had heard of Rinuccini’s behavior, he had declined to beat either boy, knowing that such punishments would never achieve the desired effect with them. He took a deep breath, and spoke in his most commanding tone. “Mercutio, take Valentine and leave my presence immediately. Thou wilt go to see thy tutor, and thou wilt write a letter of apology to Lord Salutati detailing precisely why thy present conduct is unacceptable. Thou art further confined to the palace grounds until I have seen thee and we have had more talk on this matter. Now, depart!”

Mercutio muttered something ungracious under his breath, but then put his hand on Valentine’s shoulder, and the two boys walked away. Already feeling his accustomed weariness creeping over him, Escalus ushered Giambattista back into the bedchamber.

“My deepest apologies,” he said, as Giambattista went to the pitcher to wash his face and hands. “I shall see that he receives such chastisement as is his due, and he will write his apology to thee even if I must lock him in a study to do so.”

“His name is Mercutio?” Giambattista asked, reaching for his hose. “And what name didst thou give his small brother? Valentine? Thou didst speak of them last night, I think.”

“Ay, so I did. They are my nephews, the sons of my sister Donatella, who has been seven years in her grave.”

“I remember Donatella. She was a merry girl.” Giambattista’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “She did marry . . . ah, I remember, thou hast spoken of this on other occasions. She wedded Giacomo Rinuccini, did she not? Those boys are his sons?”

“Ay, they are, and pity ‘tis that my sister’s children should be the sons of such a man as that.”

“Then it is a blessing that both boys do favor their mother.”

Escalus shrugged, and began to pull on his clothes. “In looks, if naught else. Donatella’s tongue was never so sharp as Mercutio’s, nor her demeanor so insolent.”

“Insolent? Nay.” Giambattista pulled his shirt over his head and shrugged into his doublet. “I saw no insolence there. I saw surprise and anger, and mayhap a trace of fear, but that is no habitually insolent boy.”

Escalus snorted, but moved to help Giambattista lace the doublet. “Thou dost not dwell in the house with him. What character wouldst thou see in him?”

Giambattista pursed his lips together for a moment before he spoke. “I am not acquainted with him, but I will tell thee that he puts me in mind of certain ill-used colts that I have been given to train. Those beasts have oft times known naught but spurs and the lash from the men who should have gentled them. Accordingly, they grow vicious, and apt to bite or kick, but the blame is not theirs.”

“There are many who would destroy such vicious horses as those.”

“Ay, and I will defy such men with my last breath. A colt that has been abused may, with gentle handling, be trained to regain trust in men and to behave as pleasantly as any good beast.”

Escalus considered Giambattista’s words. He wanted to embrace the thread of hope that they gave him, but he was still uncertain. “Are there not horses that are simply too wild, too foul of temper to be gentled thus?”

“I do not believe that any such horses are born in men’s stables,” Giambattista replied. “But I do believe that a vicious man can spoil even the colt that most desires to please his master.” He paused for a moment and frowned, staring off into space as if trying to recall something. “Tell me again why thou didst recently banish Rinuccini from Verona’s walls. It is a strange thing, to send off a man so suddenly who still has sole care of minor children.”

“It is for the sake of those children that I did cast him out of the city!” Escalus said, more vehemently than he had intended. He realized that he was shaking a little, and took a deep breath to regain control of himself. “Surely thou dost remember what he was like before he wedded my sister . . . or perhaps thou dost not. He was often in the stews, but thou didst have eyes only for pretty boys like thyself.”

Giambattista smiled a little at the compliment, but quickly grew serious again. “Nay, I did bear a brain even as a youth, and I recall the rumors that were passed in the stews about Giacomo Rinuccini. I recall . . . they said that he did not give a fig for the sex of his whores, only that they be young, not much more than children. There were few bawds who wished to pander to him, and then he . . . oh, God ‘a mercy . . .” His voice trailed off, and a look of horror came over him.

A dark cloud seemed to settle over the chamber. Escalus recalled the dreadful night when he had been called from a sound sleep to confront the evidence of Rinuccini’s unholy fury unleashed against the boys who were all that was left of Escalus’s dear poppet. Giambattista looked in his eyes, and seemed to piece something together in his mind.

“A pox upon that man,” he said. “Now I see. I did encounter them in the corridor, half naked. I knew not whose boys they were, only that they appeared startled, as if they had not expected to encounter a strange man clad only in a robe. I swear to thee, Escalus, I did no more than extend my hand to greet them, but the little one took fright and hid behind his brother, who then cursed at me as if . . . I know not what Rinuccini did to them, and I have no wish to know. But hear me now. Mercutio is no knavish villain, however vile his behavior. He is merely an ill-used boy who loves his brother.”

“Can he be salvaged?” Escalus asked, desperate for any ray of hope.

Giambattista considered the question for a moment, then nodded soberly. “Ay. I think he can be. He will require careful handling and gentle speech, but do not give him up. Speak kindly to him, and thou canst still train that viciousness out of him.”

Those words were the first shred of hope that anyone had yet offered Escalus regarding Mercutio. Their effect on him was strong and immediate. He dropped to his knees, unable to decide how best to thank God for sending Giambattista to him at the moment of his need. Concerned, Giambattista squatted down next to him, and Escalus reached out to pull him into a firm embrace.

“I can never give thee enough thanks,” he said, tears springing to his eyes. “Thou canst not fathom the courage that thou hast given me.”

Giambattista said nothing, but held Escalus close, stroking his hair and allowing the tension to pour forth from him. At last, Escalus broke the embrace, and rose to find a handkerchief to wipe his face. “Would that thou couldst stay here for ever,” he said. “Isotta does not know her own fortune to have such a friend as thee.”

“Surely it is no more than my own fortune to have found thee again.” Suddenly shy, Giambattista flashed a crooked half-smile at Escalus. “I would not give thee up, not entirely,” he said. “If ever thou wouldst call to me, I would come.”

Escalus considered the offer. It was sinful, and it would require a certain amount of stealth and discretion in his own household, but the temptation was undeniable. “I would not take thee too far from thy wife,” he said.

“I would not flaunt it in her face,” Giambattista agreed. “But perhaps . . . every now and again?”

“I have had others in this chamber before thee.”

“And wilt again, I am certain. I do not expect to be thy one and only. But if thou wouldst send for me on occasion, I would be more than content.”

It could work, Escalus thought. Not often, and with a certain amount of forethought and planning, but he could imagine ways to take gentlemen discreetly as true lovers, not merely have various servants and common folk as brief bedfellows to be sent home before the sheets cooled. If Giambattista was willing to learn these new ins and outs, then perhaps Escalus could have at least an approximation of a desire that he had long suppressed as impractical.

“On occasion,” he said. “Not often, for I will not arouse too much suspicion around thee. Perhaps Paris will be in need of a new hunting steed, and I might summon a breeder of my acquaintance to examine the stock already in my stables and advise me as to the particulars of such a purchase.”

Giambattista nodded. “I wager that thou couldst find a breeder well apt to such close conference. Perhaps thou might also wish to train the colts that thy mares do produce, and thou wouldst desire the word of one with experience in that matter.”

“Perhaps I will want that assistance as well.” Escalus smiled and moved to give Giambattista a farewell kiss. “Should I have need of such a man -- and I expect to have need -- I will send for thee.”

“I shall await thy call.”

There was time for only one more embrace, and the Escalus’s valet was knocking at the door. Escalus made sure that his clothes were in order and that his appearance was presentable, and went out to face the day, asking the valet to show Giambattista out.

* * *

Lord Salutati and his wife and servants left Verona later that day, having finished their business with the lawyer. Escalus made a discreet inquiry and learned that the business had involved an apartment in the city that Lord Salutati had wished to purchase with funds from his father’s estate. He made note of the location of the apartment. There was no pressing need for the information, but new paths could reveal themselves at any moment.

The palace had been notably quiet for much of the day. Mercutio had written an acceptable letter of apology, which Escalus had sent by page to Giambattista’s country estate, and had then vanished. Escalus knew that he had not left the palace grounds, for he had specifically told his guards of Mercutio’s punishment and knew that they would not have permitted him to leave. He was not looking forward to the talk that he must have with Mercutio, but he could not ignore it, if only because he had declared that Mercutio would be confined to the palace until they had spoken. He could have summoned a servant to fetch Mercutio to him, but after his discussion with Giambattista, he felt the need to approach Mercutio himself. Reluctantly, he set off in search of the boy, trying to imagine where a clever, angry child might hide from a guardian.

Mercutio was not in the stables, nor was he in the mews visiting the hawks. A trip to the kennel revealed Valentine, who sat cradling Bembo in his arms under the watchful eye of the pup’s dam. Escalus pretended not to notice that Valentine edged a little closer to the dog when he caught sight of his uncle, but instead arranged his face into what he hoped was a friendly smile. “Where is thy brother?” he asked. “I would speak to him, as I promised.”

“Will you scold him?”

“We will have words, certainly. But I think that the chastisement will not be so terrible as thou dost fear. Dost thou know where he is?”

Valentine considered him for a moment, then dropped his eyes. He hugged Bembo a little closer, and the pup yipped once. “I saw Mercutio going towards the south gate. There is a patio there that he favors.”

Escalus smiled. “I thank thee, Valentine. I promise thee that I will not harm thy brother.” Valentine glanced at him, his expression unreadable. Escalus left the kennel and headed for the south gate.


	6. An Unaccustomed Spirit

**6\. An Unaccustomed Spirit**

* * *

Escalus did indeed find Mercutio at the south gate. As it was the gate used for taking refuse and night soil out of the palace, it was usually kept locked and under minimal guard. It also turned out to be the gate that attracted the stray cats that roamed Verona’s streets. Mercutio was entertaining one of these, a tabby almost as skinny as he was, who batted at a string that Mercutio dangled before its nose. The cat leaped and twisted in the air, and Mercutio laughed delightedly. It was a sound that Mercutio did not make often, at least in his uncle’s presence, and Escalus paused for a moment to take in the scene.

After a moment, he steeled himself to do what he had come to do. “Mercutio,” he said, in a voice that he hoped was not overly commanding.

Mercutio turned at the sound of his name and saw Escalus. Swiftly, he knelt and took the cat in his arms before it could run away, then rose and came to stand before Escalus. “Uncle,” he said. “I have written my letter, and I did not stint at it. The tutor did approve it as well.”

“I know,” Escalus replied. “I have sent it to Lord Salutati’s home in the country, and he will be pleased to receive it.” This information did not seem to have much of an effect on Mercutio, and Escalus paused, momentarily at a loss for words. “Have a care with that cat,” he said. “It is filthy from the streets, and I would not have it bewitch thee. Thou hast already been quite ill this summer.”

“Grimalkin will not harm me,” Mercutio said, scrubbing his fingers gently over the top of the cat’s head. “She is my friend. I visit her often to play with her, and she is always friendly. Would you care to be introduced?”

Escalus suspected that Grimalkin appreciated not just Mercutio’s company, but also significant portions of his meals, but he held his tongue on that subject, knowing that another argument would not help matters. Instead, he leaned a little closer to the cat, and Mercutio turned so that he could see her face.

“Let her sniff your hand first, and then you may stroke her,” Mercutio said. Escalus had never cared much for cats, as he found them uncanny. But Grimalkin did not seem likely to cast a spell in the immediate future, so Escalus offered her his finger. She sniffed at it, then blinked lazily. Mercutio nodded encouragement, and Escalus gingerly stroked the fur of her shoulders. It was surprisingly soft and silky, and Grimalkin seemed to enjoy the attention. Escalus petted her for a little while, then withdrew his hand and allowed Mercutio to continue. Grimalkin purred, and her purring seemed to keep Mercutio calm, so Escalus decided that she could stay for the discussion.

“Mercutio, dost thou know the gentleman whom thou didst insult this morning?” Escalus asked.

Mercutio shrugged a little. “His name is Lord Salutati. You did call him by that name the first time that you chastised me.”

“Dost thou know aught else of him?”

“He is your copesmate, or at least your bedfellow of last night, the one you tumbled for sport.”

Escalus was rather taken aback by Mercutio’s frank words. His surprise must have shown on his face, for Mercutio gave him such a look as one might give to a very slow child who had just failed a simple undertaking. “Uncle, I am no fool. He appeared outside your bedchamber with only your robe to hide his nakedness. I know full well what may pass between two men in a bedchamber in the dark of night.”

“Nay, thou art mistaken.” Mercutio gave Escalus a sharp look, and opened his mouth, but Escalus held up his hand to forestall the retort. “Thou know’st a great deal about force and violation, that is true. But I wager that thou art completely innocent concerning the love that may exist between two men, that grows of naught save their free consent.”

Mercutio retreated a few steps and hid his face in Grimalkin’s fur. “Speak not of love,” he said. “I will have no part of it.”

“Thou mayst feel differently when thou art a little older,” Escalus offered. “Thou wilt find a maid that thou wilt dote upon and wish to take to wife, or perhaps thou wilt find a man that thou wouldst have as lover.”

“I will have no lover, maid or man!”

Escalus sighed. “Well, I will not constrain thee to it now. We will set the matter aside until thou art full-grown. Thou hast my word on that.”

Mercutio considered Escalus’s words silently, regarding his uncle with the cold stare that meant that his thoughts were moving rapidly along strange paths that he would never disclose. Grimalkin meowed and began to squirm, and Mercutio set her on her feet. She wove herself around his legs, then scurried away after some small creature that had caught her eye. Mercutio watched her go, then turned his attention back to Escalus.

“I know not what to think,” he admitted. “I had thought that Valentine and I would find safety and refuge here.”

“And so you will. Have I given thee cause to doubt that?”

“You take men to your bed!” Mercutio cried. “How can I trust you after what I have seen?”

Escalus closed his eyes and silently cursed Giacomo Rinuccini to an eternity in the deepest part of a lake of hellfire. This was a knot that would take much trouble to untangle. He opened his eyes to find Mercutio still glaring at him, and struggled to find the words that would begin the untangling.

“I take men to my bed,” he said at last, “not children. I take none who are unwilling. And I would never take any of my own kin -- not Paris, not thee, not Valentine.”

Mercutio did not yet look convinced, but neither did he raise an objection, so Escalus pressed a little further. “There are certain men in this world whose inclination is to other men; thou wouldst be surprised by their number. And by far the largest part of that number are nothing like thy father. They do not force or abuse their sons, if they have them, they do not commit rape, and they are no more lewd or licentious than any man in Christendom. Their only sin is to desire lovers of the sex kept from them by the laws of the holy Church.”

“Then your lovers --“

“They will pose no threat to thee or to thy brother,” Escalus said. “If any one of them thinks to do so, tell me of it, and I will punish him as I would any such criminal.”

“You will vouch for your lovers?” Mercutio still seemed skeptical, but at least he was speaking politely.

“I will certainly vouch for myself,” Escalus answered him. “And with God’s help, I will not choose a lover who would threaten thee, for I will not have such men in Verona, let alone in my bed. But what of thee? I do not wish to repeat this morning’s scene. As long as thou dost dwell beneath my roof, thou wilt be courteous to any lover of mine that thou dost meet. Thou wilt deal with them as one gentleman to another. Have I made myself clear?”

Mercutio nodded. “Ay. I will not challenge them, if you will vouch for them.” Escalus suspected that he could hope for nothing better from Mercutio, and accepted the promise. Mercutio wrinkled his nose thoughtfully for a moment. “Have we spoken?”

“What dost thou think we have just been doing?”

“You did say that I was confined here until we had spoken. Have we spoken?”

“Oh.” Escalus considered the conversation. He had originally intended to scold Mercutio for his rudeness, but he guessed that the conversation they had just had would have the same effect in the end. “I suppose we have. There is still some of the day left. Thou art free to spend it with thy friends, if thou wilt.”

Mercutio smiled and ran off to the front entrance.

* * *

The next week, Escalus held court at Free-town once again. The first case that he heard was the one he had deferred, involving the man who wished to deprive his son of an inheritance for refusing to marry the maid chosen for him. Escalus listened as the parties refreshed their arguments to him, and then began to ask questions of his own.

This was not the first marriage that the man had tried to arrange for his son. The circumstances under which the previous match had fallen apart were not entirely clear, but appeared to have involved the bride’s family withdrawing their daughter from the agreement after a dispute regarding the character of the prospective bridegroom. No one seemed to be able to explain precisely what was wrong with the young man’s character, and the family of the current prospective bride raised no objections to him.

Above all else, the man seemed desperate to see his eldest son married. His primary reasons, as far as Escalus could make out, were that he wanted to see a grandson in his lifetime, and that he wanted to settle all the mysterious questions of his eldest’s character before trying to arrange matches for his younger son and his daughter.

Escalus heard all these arguments, and considered his next move. The only party to this dispute who had not had much to say was the young man at its center. He had sat quietly at his father’s side, staring at the floor, and had not spoken unless someone addressed him directly, and then only with monosyllabic answers. But there had been something in his eye the last time the family had come before him that had spoken to Escalus. The more he thought about it, the more he thought that the young man’s words would be the key to solving this dispute. The only difficulty lay in extracting those words from him.

Allowing Mercutio to hold filthy Grimalkin had worked wonders in loosening his tongue, but the young man before Escalus now was too old to be coaxed into talking by an animal. But perhaps there was another aspect of his conversation with Mercutio that Escalus could use to his advantage here.

“Sir,” he told the father, “I will speak privately with your son, the better to determine my judgment in this matter.” The father looked surprised, but nodded his agreement. Escalus ordered his officers to clear the court, and beckoned the young man to approach his bench.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Vannoccio, and it please your worship.”

“Vannoccio. Will you tell me why you will not wed this girl, despite all your father’s threats? She is not deformed in any way, she is of good breeding, and she is willing to be married. What reason do you have to refuse her?”

Vannoccio looked away, and Escalus saw a fiery blush creep up from his collar. He seemed to struggle with his answer, and a look of shame came over his face. In that instant, Escalus knew that his guess had been correct.

“I . . . I am a sinner, your worship,” Vannoccio mumbled. “I am incorrigible, and I know that I will be damned for it. I have made my peace with that. But I will not drag that girl or any other down to the flames with me.”

“Ah.” Escalus made sure to keep his expression neutral, as befitted a judge. But behind his mask, he thought carefully about the events of the past week, and a possible solution began to take shape in his mind.

“Vannoccio,” he said, “do you love your brother and your sister?”

Vannoccio looked puzzled at the sudden turn of the conversation, but nodded. “Ay, your worship. I hold them as dear as any man holds a sister or a brother.”

“And would you give up a portion of that which is rightfully yours if you knew that it would go to them?”

Vannoccio considered the question for a moment, then nodded again. “Ay, I would. It is good that they should receive benefit if I must make sacrifice.”

He was looking at Escalus now, and his clear brown eyes held no deceit. Escalus had but one question left for him. “If I were to judge for your father and rule that you should marry the maid he has chosen for you, would you be a friend to her?”

“I . . . I do not understand.”

“Would you honor her, keep her in kindness, see that she wanted for naught, ensure as much of her happiness as is within your power?”

“I would. I have no wish to harm the maid. That is why I do not wish to marry her; I wish her to have a lord who can love her as she should be loved.”

“As you cannot love her,” Escalus said softly. Vannoccio’s blush was all the answer that Escalus required. “Go forth from this chamber. Wait with your father. I will recall all parties to this judgment when I am ready.”

Vannoccio left the room, and Escalus reached below his great seat and removed the box that the father had given him the week before. Inside the box were several documents pertinent to the case at hand. Escalus selected one and perused it for a few moments, making calculations in his mind. When he was satisfied, he rang for his bailiff and asked him to return the family to the court chamber.

When they were seated, Escalus surveyed their faces, trying to guess how they would respond to his verdict. Vannoccio’s father stared back at him, willing him to give the answer he desired. Vannoccio gazed at him shyly, and Escalus could almost feel the desperate hope radiating from him. The girl’s father merely looked bored. Escalus squared the documents on the table, then motioned for the supplicants to rise.

“I have considered this case in all its aspects,” he said, “and this is the judgment of your Prince. Vannoccio, as the eldest son of your father, you are normally entitled to inherit the largest portion of his estate. Your father proposes to withhold that inheritance should you refuse to marry the maid of his choosing.

“I have searched my conscience, and I judge that you, Vannoccio, shall be the ultimate arbiter of your destiny.” Vannoccio’s father reared his head back in horror, and Escalus held up a hand to forestall the imminent bellow of rage. “However,” he went on, “you choice shall not be without its consequences. Therefore, hear my words well, and then choose as you will.

“Should you choose to obey your father and marry the wife he has arranged for you, then you will inherit all the lands and monies that are your due. However, should you choose against this marriage, you will forfeit a share of that money. Should you choose not to marry, your father will divide his estate in three even parts, and you will receive no more nor no less than your brother and your sister.”

For a moment, there was stunned silence. None of the three disputants looked fully satisfied, but neither did they seem wholly displeased with events. Escalus gathered up the documents on the table. On the top of the pile was a tally of all of Vannoccio’s father’s assets. Even a third share of the inheritance would be plenty to keep a young man, especially if he did not have to provide for a wife. He trusted that Vannoccio would not mind losing part of his inheritance if that increased the share for the brother and sister he loved. Or, if the money meant enough to him, he could take it and the bride that came with it. But the choice would be his.

There was but one instruction left to give. “Vannoccio,” Escalus said. “Think well before you make your choice. If you choose to marry, look you that you treat your lady well. Though you would marry her for your father’s money, remember that she is as much God’s child as you are. Should any rumor arise that she is unhappy in her marriage, I shall be sure to hear of it. Marry her only if you will be kind to her.”

Vannoccio nodded. He and his father both bowed, and his father led him from the chamber. Out of the corner of his eye, Escalus saw the girl’s father relax.

Escalus took a moment before looking over the documents pertaining to the next case. This one had not been easy, and he was still not entirely certain that he had done right. But it was the best judgment he had been capable of making, and he supposed that was what mattered in the end.

* * *

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterword: Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. Escalus isn’t exactly the most competent guardian, and Mercutio isn’t anyone’s dream foster child, but at least they’ve begun to find some ground for a relationship. And perhaps Escalus will learn one day that the world will not end if he takes a little time to arrange a little comfort and pleasure for himself. I wouldn’t bet the farm on that, though.


End file.
